


feel as lonely as i do

by bklt



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26418307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bklt/pseuds/bklt
Summary: Signet longs for her favourite song.For FatT Sapphic week!
Relationships: Belgard/⸢Signet⸣ (Friends at the Table)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	feel as lonely as i do

**Author's Note:**

> _How my tongue dried into the dust  
>  How my skin willed a lie  
> Drill a hole in the field  
> Just the size of my thighs  
> Feel as lonely as I do  
> Feel as lonely as I do  
> Feel as lonely as I do, as I do  
> Feel as lonely as I do, I do _

For all the people she met, ⸢Signet⸣ was lonely.

There was content in loneliness, of course; the quiet rumination and relief that came with it, away from the crowds of Seance and the By and By. There was no off duty for ⸢Signet⸣. Divine gifts or not, she still performed the role of an Excerpt to its greatest extent, an ear to lend, a gentle touch on the shoulder. In it was in this still that ⸢Signet⸣ looked inward, the pall of something sinister and weary that was as occasional as it was wrenching. 

She had been here a long time.

To some degree, ⸢Signet⸣ had come to terms with this fact, the type of weariness that came from seeing the passing of centuries, the type that came with witnessing the fall of icons and idols. Time had a tendency to lose its meaning. Days felt so infinitesimal slotted in the mosaic, pieces unrecognizable from the whole. And grief had its way of killing time or raking her through it, every wayward limb a ghost of the self, tucked away in some ornate inlaid casket. Objects of affection. Always whole. Always made new.

Like time itself, grief never left. And like time, it ebbed and flowed like orchestra swell, the pianissimo of bows skating across strings exploding to the bellowing of brass. And in the lonely silence of ⸢Signet⸣’s passenger ship, it was the crash of cymbals. Centuries were not enough to ease the pain of old silence. There was a time where she could always hear a soft passage enveloping her mind, felt as sub-bass and resonant and deep. That when she called it would answer softly, her favourite sound as objective fact written lovingly on illuminated screens. That was the trouble and beauty with beloved favourites; that they could be taken away made it all the more precious, that they had to be savoured like fine chocolate melting on the tongue. 

Which made the bitterness all the more cloying. This was supposed to be a song that would echo onto forever, even after her own had stopped. Never again would she hear it, feel it seep into every vein and into every infinite cell lovingly accounted for. Nothing could make the all of her tremble with fierce adoration, taught by the gaze of love itself; how it looked and what it looked like.

It looked like this; it was meandering rivers flowing back into the ocean that was Belgard, loving and visceral and complete. It looked like silk and velvet and satin wrapped around new limbs and gliding over skin. It looked like everything for what it was, each perceived flaw not a flaw at all, but simply a beautiful part of the whole.

Even so, ⸢Signet⸣ allowed herself a moment of self indulgence. Love looked like the song she would long for endlessly, each instrument soaring in its refrain, her name cried as whisper.

_ They marked scars of light in pitch; born in fiercest purpose, and beheld as the signet sealed upon our pact, _

_ They marked scars of light in pitch; born in fiercest purpose, and beheld as the signet sealed upon our pact, _

_ They marked scars of light in pitch; born in fiercest purpose, and beheld as the signet sealed upon our pact, _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm @nonwerewolf on twitter if you'd like to hear me yell about FatT!


End file.
